


Hanging Like Bricks Don't

by minglingcrab



Series: Hanging Like Bricks Don't (a.k.a. aliens make them do it) [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Crack, Humor, M/M, Torture, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minglingcrab/pseuds/minglingcrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're competing for a research grant," Adam says levelly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanging Like Bricks Don't

**Author's Note:**

> Runaway drabble written in response to the ai_kinkmeme prompt: "Adam and Kris (who are currently just friends) get kidnapped by aliens who are intrigued by human anatomy, and tell them that they'll let them go as soon as they perform various sexual acts. Because it's not a fandom until aliens make them do it."
> 
> Also, everyone and their mother knows that jerakeen is awesome sauce, but that's no reason not to repeat it here. Girl wins a toaster, several hugs, and all the internets in existence for taking my hand and ushering me into ficdom; and also for hooking me up with drgaellon (who is also, incidentally, awesome sauce) for the beta.
> 
> "The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't."  
> \- _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_

Kris knows that he has a reputation for being laid-back, low-key, able to just accept things as they come, but...it's probably okay to freak out when Adam has a bloody bump the size of a tennis ball on the back of his head. Oh, and also when being kidnapped. Kidnapped by–

"No sports metaphors," Adam objects, and Kris snorts. Adam is still himself, at least. He doesn't seem woozy. But with a bump that size, there's like a seventy-five percent chance that he's concussed, isn't there?

"A bump the size of a very large plum," Kris concedes.

"What is it with you and plums?" Adam is feeling the walls of the...room–cell–vehicle–

_Spaceship_, Kris' mind supplies helpfully, but he isn't ready to go there yet.

"Plan A: We chew our way out of here," Adam says, pressing his palms flat against the wall. Kris just watches him. The entire room is constructed out of some sort of metal–one smooth surface, the walls curving rather than meeting at corners–and it's strangely pliant to the touch, not uncomfortable to lie on–which was nice while they were recovering. But it's definitely not chewable.

_And not very human_, the oddly cheerful voice in his head pipes up. Kris ignores it.

There's no door. They were dropped in through the ceiling; that's how Adam got the bump on his head. Kris' ass is a little sore, but unlike Adam, he hit the wall at the top and slid down. He's in much better shape.

"Maybe if I stand on your shoulders," Kris suggests, "I could–"

"Yeah, okay." Adam moves like he's going to crouch, but Kris has already hopped up piggy-back style, and it isn't hard to wriggle up the rest of the way from there. Kris has kind of a..._thing_ for climbing on his friends like this, because he's so much smaller than most of them and it's funny and maybe he's a little bit of a monkey. Whatever, he likes doing it, and the experience comes in handy here. Adam is solid under him, taking Kris' weight easily.

"Stay next to the wall," Kris orders. "I have to stand up."

Adam complies, but–

"Hey!" Kris yelps as Adam's shoulders start to shake.

"Sorry." Adam tries to stop laughing. "This is just pretty surreal."

"You're realizing this _now_?" Kris mutters, feeling along the edge of the ceiling for _some_ crack, _some_ purchase for his fingernails, and finding none.

"Well," Adam says brightly, "my head was just between your thighs and, I don't know, that brought it home, somehow."

Kris hadn't even thought about it that way. "I'm so–"

"It's for the cause," Adam says, and he sounds fine. "I'm such a martyr."

"Yes, Mr. Lambert." Kris jumps at the voice that seems to emanate from right above his head, low-pitched and melodic. Adam keeps a firm grip on his shoes and Kris clings to the wall to avoid falling off.

"You'd better put him down, though," the voice goes on. "The sooner I can come in, the sooner we can discuss your continuing martyrdom."

That doesn't sound very promising. But after a moment Kris slides down Adam's arm and onto the floor; neither of them would be able to defend themselves with Kris on Adam's shoulders. Adam puts an arm around him.

The ceiling retracts about halfway, and a slender man–a completely human-looking man with a short brown beard and perfectly normal jeans and a t-shirt–jumps down into the cell with them. What's less normal is, he lands on his feet. The ceiling closes behind him.

"The two of you are adjusting very well," he says with a friendly smile. "Part of that may be shock, but overall you humans appear to know how to adapt to unusual circumstances. I must commend your race."

There doesn't seem to be anything to say to that. Luckily, the man does not appear to expect a response.

"I'd also like to apologize for your treatment up to this point," he adds, and he sounds truly apologetic. "We're short-staffed right now, and we had to send some hired hands to pick you up. Hired strong arms," he repeats distastefully. "Not even trainees. They aren't very well-versed in your ways or your biology, and they aren't familiar with the concept of bruising. We tried to give them detailed instructions, but it's difficult to know what needs to be...well." He coughs, and gives them another smile. "I tend to run on."

Kris just stares.

"Who the hell," Adam says distinctly, and his arm is like iron around Kris, "are you?"

The man blinks. "Didn't anyone brief you?" At their faces, his mouth tightens, and suddenly twists and emits–

Well, it's a sound. He can't even think of words to describe what _kind_ of sound. Is it language? It's bouncing around his skull like–like–it's so–

_Alien?_ the voice in his head queries.

"I'm sorry if that disturbed you," the man says, clearly addressing Kris and Adam again. "I generally maintain a human guise so as to keep our subjects calm, but that was necessary. Discipline, you know." He sighs. "Since I'm already here, I'll do the introductions myself. You can call me Eric. I'm what you'd call a biologist, and my particular field is sexuality. It's actually pretty much the hot research ticket right now, as far as humanity goes," he adds confidingly. "There's some good work being done in psychology, but plain old physiology, well, there's just no money in it any more, and–" he coughs. That seems to be his way of cutting himself off when he starts to ramble.  "Anyway, hardly anyone is looking into homosexuality, so this is really a very unique project."

Kris closes his mouth.

"You're competing for a research grant," Adam says levelly.

"Do you really look like that?" Kris blurts.

"Of course not." Eric is offended. "I've spent years creating this human simulation. For research projects such as this one. It's won several awards. We've found that subjects perform better when they're comfortable, and our physical forms and language tend to disturb–"

"Perform?" Adam says softly.

"Yes." Eric shrugs. "I know that humans don't like an audience, but you'll have privacy, I promise. I may need to interrupt with questions from time to time, but really, for the most part–"

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Look," Eric says soothingly, "this doesn't have to be painful. I know that your instinct is to resist, but it's not like this is something unpleasant. In fact, I encourage you to enjoy yourselves just as if–"

"Kris isn't gay," Adam says. Kris wishes he could think of something helpful to say, but he settles for rubbing Adam's arm, which has begun to tremble slightly.

"Really." Eric sounds amused. "Well, that's a very creative approach to resistance."

"But I'm not," Kris says blankly, and Eric chuckles.

"Boys, I reviewed the tapes before my assistant hired the team to retrieve you. It's a valiant effort, but–"

"Tapes?" Kris glances at Adam, who is staring hard at Eric. "Tapes of what? Not of us having sex, because we don't do that, because I'm not gay."

Eric furrows his brow. "No, not sex tapes, but he showed me the interactions of several couples and the two of you were obviously the best candidates as far as compatibility and chemistry–"

Adam is laughing.

"We're really good friends," Kris says.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet," Adam adds.

Eric studies them, and Kris suddenly realizes that with Adam's arm around him–with the way he's tucked into Adam's side–it looks like–but his grip tightens convulsively on Adam's waist because, stupidly, that's his instinctive response to _anyone_ acting like he has to be wary of touching Adam. Including aliens, apparently.

"I'm losing my patience," Eric announces. "You seemed reasonable, and to be honest, from what I saw of you I thought you might be kinky enough to enjoy this. But if you won't cooperate voluntarily, there are other methods."

Kris meets Adam's glance. Other methods? What–

Eric's mouth twists again in that odd way, and the sound that emerges this time is just as alien as before but now somehow feral, and Adam suddenly cries out and grips his head in both hands, sinking down to his knees. He looks up at Kris with wide eyes–

And then he starts to scream.

Kris doesn't know what he's yelling at Eric, and he's scared to touch Adam because he doesn't know where the pain is coming from and whether he might make it worse. He doesn't even know whether to lunge at Adam or at Eric, and he whirls between both; Adam is on the floor but convulsing so violently–his back is arching up so high that he rises off his heels–

And then he stops. And lies there. Panting and twitching. The whole thing lasted only seconds.

"Half an hour should be sufficient recovery time," Eric says briskly. "I won't bother coming in, I'll use the loudspeaker system. I sincerely hope that you aren't still resisting at that point."

And then he's leaping up, and the ceiling opens to receive him.

Kris crouches down beside Adam, whose eyes are closed and whose breath is coming in short and sharp. He strokes Adam's arm.

"So," he says. He hesitates. "It looks like we're going to have some sex."

Adam's eyes pop open. "You–don't–have–to–"

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" Kris doesn't curse, not really, but for _Christ's_ sake– "That better be some token objection. You had better not be serious."

"Kris–"

"Just–just lie there. Recover or something. My God. You're out of your mind."

Adam blinks at him and when Kris sees he's blinking away tears, he sighs and lies down next to Adam, pressing his face to Adam's chest. "We'll be fine, okay?"

Adam doesn't answer, and they lie there like that, without speaking, as the minutes wind down.

* * *

It isn't Eric's voice that tells them the time is up. The ceiling opens and a cardboard box drops down to them. They sit up and stare at it.

"Open it." There's Eric's voice. Kris looks at Adam, who shrugs and pulls back the tabs.

Inside is an assortment of dildos, lube, condoms–several other things that Kris doesn't recognize. He doesn't want to know what his face looks like. Adam's is grim.

"I'd like you to go about this as you would if you were planning a night of debauchery for both of you to enjoy," Eric says serenely. "Cover as much ground as possible."

The look that Adam directs upwards is–well, if looks could kill–

"Since this is Kris' first time," Adam says, his voice too hard, too challenging; Kris wants to tell him to calm down, "would you mind if we just stuck with the basics?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Eric pauses. "You're vanilla, after all, aren't you? That's disappointing. Well, do what's comfortable for you. That's essential."

Kris is still staring down into the box. Is that a cock ring?

"Begin now," Eric says, and Kris takes a deep breath and looks up at Adam. He smiles weakly. Adam doesn't move. "_Now_," Eric repeats. "Mr. Lambert, Mr. Allen can just as easily experience what you–"

Adam's chest heaves and then he's pushing the box out of the way and kneeling in front of Kris. Kris gets up on his knees, too. They stare at each other. Finally, Adam smiles–or tries to smile–tries to look reassuring.

"The basics," he says, and then he kisses Kris.

Of course Adam is a good kisser. He has soft, firm lips and Kris doesn't really have to, like, pretend that he's a woman or anything, he's not thinking of this in terms of _getting through it_. It's just a kiss, and as kisses go, it's very gentle and sweet. Yes, there's stubble, a little, which is different, and he hasn't tasted anyone other than Katy in–well–years, but Adam is gently rubbing his shoulder and it's just–well, it's Adam.

"Intercourse, gentlemen." Eric's voice is sharp, and then without warning, pain bursts behind Kris' eyes. He sees Adam's face before everything goes white–terrified, a look that Kris has never seen before–and then a change comes over Adam and he yanks Kris towards him and the pain recedes as Adam's tongue invades his mouth.

* * *

  
  
  


The residue of pain in his skull is hot and pounding, and for a moment he can't separate that from the heat of Adam's mouth on his, from Adam's hands sliding over his chest. Adam pulls Kris' shirt over his head and then his mouth, wet and open and hot like the pain, is pressing against Kris' temple, his jaw, his neck. Adam, Kris is aware, is systematically manhandling him. He gasps as Adam sucks hard on his nipple, licks at it, laps at it, drawing it to a hard peak, and Adam's eyes shoot up to his and they stare at each other–

Having sex and feeling sexy are two different things, and it's only the first one that Eric can really enforce. It's only the first one that Kris expected to be getting into here. Kissing is one thing, but for this to work, Kris should be closing his eyes and trying to think of Katy, or at least England.

Instead, he's watching the way Adam's eyes close and the way Adam draws a shuddering breath when Kris reaches out and touches his cheek.

And then Adam's mouth is back on Kris', in a deep, slow, dirty kiss, and it's the hottest–it's–it's the–Adam's hands are in his hair and Kris is straddling Adam's thigh and Adam's mouth is back on his neck, and then Adam flips them over and he's kissing Kris everywhere before he takes a deep breath and palms Kris through his jeans.

Kris is half-hard, and he's wondering, distantly, what the hell is happening here. Adam is rubbing him slowly, with a flat, open palm, kissing his mouth again–their mouths feel melded together, warm and sweet–and Kris moves into Adam's hand, moves into the kiss. The pain is a distant memory and a part of Kris knows that it can still be an excuse–that it's still technically the reason that this is happening–but it's pretty clear that there's more to it than that when Adam moves down Kris' body and presses his mouth over the denim at Kris' crotch, outlining Kris' cock with his warm breath. Kris has never felt that there's any–any _space_ between them worth mentioning, but _this_–

Kris wraps his legs around Adam's waist, pulls himself into Adam's lap, when Adam lifts him up, trying to get his pants off. Adam stops trying and grinds up against him instead, and Kris gasps and presses down harder because this is amazing, Adam is amazing. When Adam pulls away, tugs Kris' jeans off, the loss of contact clears Kris' head long enough for him to remember that this wasn't supposed to be like this. Whatever _this _is. But then Adam is there again, crouching between Kris' thighs, and when he runs his tongue down the length of Kris cock, Kris actually whimpers. Adam takes the tip into his mouth–waits an eternity–and then sucks hard. Kris' hips buck violently–he's almost worried that he's going to hit Adam in the nose–but Adam moves with him. Then he looks up and smiles.

Kris wants to kiss his smile.

He doesn't know what's going to happen after this, after they get out of here, but–his hands clench into Adam's hair, so thick, soft, full around his fingers, so _Adam_, even though he's never touched him like this before–

He doesn't know what's going to happen after, but when Adam slides down and takes all of Kris into his mouth–Kris can't think about very much, but he's pretty sure they're going to be using the stuff in the box.

* * *

Adam isn't looking at him when Kris comes. He doesn't look up afterwards either; he just lies there with his head against Kris' stomach and breathes hard. Kris' hand is still in Adam's hair, and he can't find the strength to move it; so they lie like that and Kris reflects on whether his reactions here…would indicate…that he's bi. The weird thing is that they might not; Kris is comfortable with sex, he's _more_ than comfortable with Adam, he'd been dazed with pain, and it might just be–a kind of blip. He's never had a crush on a guy–he doesn't think–he's always been so exclusively Katy's. But…he's running his fingers through Adam's hair, now. He kind of loves Adam's hair.

He can't help but think of Katy, but he isn't feeling guilt. Yet. Katy has things that she likes and Kris loves doing whatever he can for her, whatever she asks for; he loves making her eyes go wide, seeing her arch and moan and tell him _yes_–but he's starting to wonder if _he's_ ever really had sex before.

"Before you continue," Eric says, and Kris is really beginning to loathe how sweet and damn _melodic_ Eric has made his human simulation sound, "I'd just like to ask, is there a routine that you've fallen into, sexually, as a couple? I mean to say, does Mr. Lambert typically begin by performing fellatio for–"

"All the times we've done it, which add up to a grand total of one, that's the way it went, yeah." Adam is sitting up and has his ankles crossed, his hands draped over his knees. He's grimacing up at the ceiling rather than looking at Kris.

"If you want to see how a couple really behaves, why don't you find an actual gay couple and hook up some hidden cameras?" Kris apologizes mentally to the hypothetical couple. But still. It's a legitimate question.

"We tried that," Eric says regretfully, "but our technology is so different from yours, it was impossible to adapt the circuitry of our instruments to hook them up in human homes, and monitoring the physiological reactions of our subjects is really the basis for–"

"Dear _God_, we so don't care." Adam cuts his eyes at Kris. "I think his emphasis was on _actual gay couple_. In the name of science, Eric! You can't use the data from us. We're going to seriously skew your results."

"I don't understand why you persist in maintaining this charade." Eric sounds almost fretful. "Especially you, Mr. Lambert, your readings quite clearly indicate that Mr. Allen is–"

"Kris Allen is cute? Alert the media!" Adam is mad, again, which means that he's sarcastic and superior, and this isn't an interview so he isn't even trying to make it palatable.

Adam is fucking stupid, sometimes.

"You're going to continue with this now," Eric says coldly. "You're an interesting contrast study, at this point. And if I need to motivate you, Mr. Lambert, by causing some intense pain to Mr. Allen, I can certainly do that. It seemed to work rather well just a few minutes ago."

Adam's face freezes. The look he shoots Kris is _agonized_, like he's _begging_ for forgiveness while Eric says, "Ah, and I can say with certainty that you quite want to go on. Painfully so. You have one minute."

Painfully so? Painfully… No. One minute doesn't give Kris much time to get that look off Adam's face, but he can try. He says rapidly, "Look, don't be stupid, okay? You're not the one who hurt me. Eric or whatever his real name is, he's the one who hurt me, and you're the one who stopped him from hurting me more." Adam bites his lip and looks down at his hands.

"And I totally got off on it, so whatever you want to make of that, it at least means I enjoyed it," Kris adds. Adam's head jerks up. "Hey, don't move your head too much." Kris wants to touch Adam's hair again–he can admit that to himself–but it's also important to note that the bump stopped bleeding at some point. That's what he's confirming, feeling along Adam's scalp with his fingertips. Adam catches his wrist.

"Fuck." Adam closes his eyes. "We have, like, fifteen seconds, right? Fuck. I can't–"

Kris is actually starting to feel panic at the thought of having the pain in his head again. It was like knives, _while_ his brain was _boiling_, and Adam is trying to psych himself up but he's taking too much time so Kris says a little desperately, "I'm naked, and you still have all your clothes on, and I feel awkward about that. So how about we start there?"

"Kris." Adam opens his eyes and he's frowning, his fingernails poking into Kris' arm where his grip is like a vise. "You–"

"I don't know why I'm so okay with this, okay? But is this really the time to be having this conversation?" He's a little jumpy with fear. "What do we do now? Do I blow you?"

"Do you–" Adam drops his head into his hands. He's clearly laughing.

"Shut up." Kris puts his mouth on Adam's and runs his hands up under Adam's shirt. It isn't that funny. He could easily do it.

"Huh," Adam says against his mouth. It's a small noise of surprise. Kris hesitates, then slowly peels Adam's shirt off. Adam is staring at him, and Kris stares back; they've seen each other shirtless before–nearly naked, too, they shared a room for months–but Adam has never lifted his hand towards Kris like that, like Kris is a magnet, like all he wants to do is touch–and then let it fall back.

Kris does think, though, that he's always kind of liked the way Adam looks. Not in a way that he himself had ever noticed, or could feel weird about, but...it's all part of the way he admires Adam. Adam is beautiful. He's beautiful shirtless, too. He's so _big_, broad, and his skin looks so soft. And freckled. Oh god. The freckles, everywhere, so strangely adorable, Kris has no idea why that's so, but it is. He wants to lick them. You'd never think that Adam looked like this underneath if you saw him on the red carpet somewhere.

Kris realizes that he's staring when Adam makes a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and then his arms are around Kris, and he's so much bigger and being wrapped up in his arms is kind of–it's closeness, it's a hug, Kris has always loved hugging Adam, but this is different than hugging with shirts and vests and layers on. Kris runs his hands up Adam's back, across his shoulders, and sucks or kisses or does _something_ to Adam's chest, which is _right in front of him_. Adam is saying his name, nearly frantic, and Kris presses his thigh up into Adam and feels a rush at the groan that elicits. He rubs against Adam like a cat, but he wants more skin, and his hands are fumbling together with Adam's at Adam's belt and together they manage to get his pants off.

His mouth does drop open at the sight of Adam's cock. That thing is huge.

"No, really, like, it really is."

"I heard you the first time."

"How do you put on your _pants_?"

"Elastic waist bands."

They're on the floor beside the box, and Adam's lips and hands are roaming over Kris' chest. "Seriously, Kris, _now_ you get intimidated?"

"Um." Yes. "Impressed, not _intimidated_."

The way Adam is touching him is distracting him from that, though. Like he just wants to touch all of Kris, and touch him forever.

"It's okay, we're going to take this slow," Adam is saying, and then he lifts his head to look at Kris, who is taking in the feeling of Adam's hands on him and very slowly losing it. Adam makes a completely unintelligible noise.

"Are you ready, baby?" he whispers, and Kris looks up into his eyes–somewhere between blue and gray, and so bright, so soft, even with pupils fully blown. Kris kisses him, and keeps kissing him as Adam sits up, kissing Kris back, and rummages in the box, coming up with lube. He examines it and then drops it back in, taking out–oh. Flavored lube. He grins at Kris and shrugs.

"Okay, I think..." He lowers Kris back to the ground, brow furrowing in thought.

"You strategizing?" Kris asks.

"Yes, actually. I think..." Adam slicks a few fingers with lube, still frowning, and then says, "Okay, I think that–a part of me wants to take this _very_ slow, because it's unfamiliar, but I want you to know what the point of it all is, so–" He sees Kris' face and grins. "I'm thinking show, don't tell. Just relax for _one_ second, okay?" And then before Kris even has time to tense up, he's sliding one slick finger all the way in and twisting upwards and–

_Oh_.

"I'm opening you up," Adam explains, and the finger inside Kris is rocking gently, nudging him in _that spot_, and Kris realizes that the point is–"Loosening the muscles," Adam is saying, "so that we can get my intimidating cock up there to do this properly."

Kris' body is already rebelling slightly at the surprise attack, clenching down, and it aches, a little, but at the same time–

Adam pulls his finger out. "_Now_ we can go slow," Adam says.

* * *

Kris shifts his hips. _Slow_. It makes sense–Kris knows that his muscles aren't used to this, and he's feeling a little uncomfortable even now, like the ghost of Adam's finger is still wedged inside him, intrusive and odd–but there's also a sense of...loss.

Eric coughs. Kris and Adam jump.

"I didn't know that you hadn't consummated your relationship yet," Eric says, and Kris sees his own disbelief–_that's_ what Eric got out of this whole exchange?–reflected on Adam's face. Especially when Eric continues, "That's the sort of thing that I need to have in your file, so that I can determine what constitutes a significant variable and how it affects orgasm. Would you mind taking a break now so that I can take a case history?"

"If we say no, do you think he'd use the pain machine to _stop_ us having sex, too?" Adam says to Kris.

"Is it a machine? I thought that's just how my brain reacts when Eric tries to sing."

"Ooh," Adam says approvingly, and he and Kris high-five.

That's probably a line that's only funny when you're being held hostage by an alien scientist.

"Mr. Allen, are you in fact a virgin?" Eric asks.

Oh, god.

"I'm married," Kris says, and he suddenly realizes that he's wearing his ring, and holds up his finger triumphantly. "To a woman," he adds. "I've never been with a man."

The pause that follows is so long that Kris knows that if he'd pointed out his ring earlier, this whole thing could have been avoided. Adam is staring at him. Kris' stomach flips over.

"Is that why you hadn't consummated before now?" Eric asks, quicker, nervous. "You were in love but you honored your vows?"

"Or," Adam says, and there's steel underlying the softness of his voice, "we're just friends, only one of us is gay, and you _fucked up_." The last two words are vicious, and he adds, "Your scientific method is pretty shitty."

Another pause.

"Look," Eric says finally, "I'm not going to apologize, because I'm not letting you go yet. But I can offer you–we can give you a drug that will blur your memories of the past day–well, the strength depends on how much we give you–we don't usually bother with it because no one would believe you anyway, and memory suppression can have weird side effects, plus it can cause more problems than it solves–but if you're worried about things being awkward after–"

Kris looks at Adam, who is already looking back at him with an unreadable expression. Adam's face is completely calm, but Kris suddenly notices that Adam's hands are in fists.

Kris doesn't want to hear about how Eric can't afford to go out and find more test subjects right now and would they please keep it up because they're doing so well and he'll just alter his research question–and come on, come on, he's going to have to hurt them if they don't have sex again now–

Kris isn't sure how much of it Adam is taking in, either. Adam is focused inward and doesn't seem to feel Kris' eyes on him. When Eric says, "And don't worry about my research–"because _that's_ definitely their priority–"It can be a question of chemistry rather than love–"

Kris wants to laugh, which is why he's unprepared when Adam suddenly grabs him and slams him against the wall. Adam's mouth is rough on his. Different. Intent and fast and Kris cannot _breathe_, and then Adam takes his fingers and–

The only coherent thought that Kris has is that he doesn't think that he's the type to go _slow_, anyway.

* * *

Sensation overcomes sight, smell, time–Kris feels like a bundle of nerve endings, like Adam's toy. Adam is playing him like an instrument, building up slowly, and then pulling back when Kris starts to lose himself; his mouth first bruises, then rains a thousand soft kisses down like he never wants to stop, like kissing Kris is the only thing in the world he wants to do. At one point Adam slows, and Kris groans, arching, muscles searching, and blinks to find Adam staring at him like...he's too distracted by _watching_ Kris to remember to _fuck_ Kris. The look is gone in an instant, though, and Adam raises one eyebrow.

"So," he says, smiling sweetly, starting up a new rhythm with the _three fingers_ that he has inside Kris.

"Is this going to be awkward for you?" he asks.

Kris gasps as Adam hits his sweet spot, repeatedly, violently.

"Because I think it's a good learning experience," Adam says, and then he's spinning Kris around and bending him over and then his _tongue_–his tongue is–

"Trying new things," Adam murmurs. "That's important."

This is about the drug Eric offered, Kris knows. He sees images of Katy, of everyone else they know, of the world outside this soft silver room. But he only sees them for a moment, they fade as he feels Adam, feels him in a way he's never felt anyone else, and Kris honestly doesn't know what the answer is.

* * *

It would be one thing if he were just enjoying it. Then he could be like, "Hey, Adam, I've just learned something new about myself. Maybe, if we ever get over how weird this is, you can give Katy and me some tips!"

But he can't really picture doing this with Katy. Not because she wouldn't be willing to try, but...

He's exhausted, but at the same time, he doesn't really want to stop. Adam's doing most of the work, anyway; Kris just reaches out or kisses him from time to time, when he can think clearly enough. He feels loose and boneless and completely attuned to every touch of Adam's–

_Oh_. His whole body flinches when Adam's cock nudges into him, gently but still, so big–and Adam backs off immediately. Kris realizes how long they've been going at this and thinks that maybe they've been going _slow_ after all. He opens his eyes as Adam rolls him onto his back and Adam is above him, sweaty and concerned. Kris tries to remember when Adam put on a condom. He can't.

Adam brushes Kris' hair back with his hand, off of his face.

"Can you do this?"

It's an intent question. His eyes are locked on Kris'. His hand is large against Kris' cheek.

"You're–you're as ready as I can get you, and if we do this we get out of here, right?"

Kris laces his fingers through Adam's. "I'm fine."

Adam doesn't question him. He looks down and then shifts Kris back onto his stomach; after a moment, he lifts Kris onto his hands and knees, and Kris lets himself be arranged in place like a limp rag doll, Adam spacing his knees apart with careful concentration. Then he kisses Kris – lightly, eyes open and gentle – and moves around behind him.

Kris keeps his grip on Adam's hand as Adam presses inside, trying to go slowly, but now that Kris thinks about it, it's pretty clear to him that Adam must have superhuman patience and stamina, because it's probably been more than an hour since they first–

"Oh, my God," Adam whispers.

Kris breathes out slowly and looks over his shoulder. There's Adam's face–so close, eyelids fluttering, but focusing so hard on Kris, so careful–and there's Adam's hand, clasped in Kris'–and there's Adam _inside him_, so deep, hard and warm and filling him up–

There's a stretch, but it's not so bad, and the tightness is _good_, he can tell that it's good for Adam. His legs twitch, opening wider, and suddenly Adam is _there_, and they stare at each other.

Kris presses closer to meet him.

"Fuck, Kris." Adam's voice breaks on the first word and then he's moving, not fast, but building, building inside Kris, and Kris wants to say _yes, yes, oh god yes, just like that _but he can only get out parts of words and sounds. And then it's more, it's harder but not faster, and then it's faster, and the rhythm falls apart, from slow throbbing pleasure to frenzied–to bursts of–

They come almost at the same time.

* * *

Kris catches his breath with Adam's fingers still clasped against his. Adam wraps the other arm around Kris' shoulders and lies half on Kris, half on the ground, his face pressed into Kris' neck.

Eric coughs.

Neither Kris nor Adam acknowledges him, and he coughs again. Kris turns his face up to the ceiling.

"Would you," Kris says, "like a cough drop?"

Eric ignores the offer.

"I have all the data I need," Eric says. "We have human shower facilities, and if you'd like the drug I can have it administered right away."

"What, aliens don't get time for cuddling?" Adam asks.

"Doors to your left." Eric is breathless and Kris meets Adam's eyes and finds that they're as wide as his own, but also...decidedly wicked.

"Was he _getting off_ to us?" Kris hisses.

"If I had anything left in me, I'd say let's give him more of a show." Adam is tying off the condom, and Kris reaches out and touches his chest, where there are – scratches. Nail marks. Huh. Kris does _not _remember doing that. Adam presses his hand and then goes to scoop up his clothes from the other side of the room.

Kris' own clothes are right beside him, and he takes them in his arms. He looks to his left. Sure enough, there are two doors there that weren't there before.

"Adam?" Kris says.

"Yeah?"

Adam straightens. His hair is a ridiculous mess, his eyes are smudged and tired, and his smile is so quick and sweet. It should be harder to believe the filthy things that mouth can do, but it actually seems...to fit. Kris swallows.

"Should we ask what kinds of side effects the drug can have?"

Adam blinks slowly. "Do you want to take it?"

"No." Not in the slightest, but..."I feel like I should?"

That shouldn't be a question. It comes out like one anyway. Yet Adam's response is a curious, "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Kris stands. His legs are unsteady.

"Why pretend this didn't happen?" Adam crosses his arms. "It happened. Do you really need to forget that badly?"

_But I__'m married_. That's pretty much the sum of Kris' thoughts, even if he's not sure what significance he's supposed to take from it in this context, so he says it out loud.

"Yeah." Adam crosses the room and picks a shower. "I don't know what to tell you, Kris."

"Adam–"

"No, really. What do you want me to say? Tell her aliens made you do it." He pushes the door open with his arm and disappears inside.

Well, that isn't fair. And it isn't very nice, either. Kris needs to talk to Adam about this. Or does he? Can he really ask Adam for advice? He needs advice, for example, on the fact that he _wants_ to go in there and kiss Adam again.

_But you__'re married,_ his inner voice says gleefully, and Kris takes the other door.

It isn't a shower room. The other one must have multiple showers. This one is a dispensary, it looks like, and Eric is inside, messing around with a syringe. He starts at the sight of Kris.

"Oh, are you ready? I thought you'd be longer–"

"No, I took the wrong door. I–" He starts to leave, but then he thinks of Adam, showering, and Katy, and things that he wants and things that he doesn't know. He stops.

"I don't want the drug, Eric."

"Oh, really?" Eric seems pleased at that. "Good, because that shit can really mess you up–"

Kris doesn't even bother to respond to that.  "Can you give me something that will give me some symptoms, though? And don't tell Adam that it's not the real thing."

"I suppose." Eric gives him a scholarly frown. "Why?"

He needs the option of pretending that this never happened. He needs to see the real world again before he analyzes what he's feeling right now.

"I need time," Kris says, and presents his arm.

* * *

Kris has a plan. In a way.

He has a plan for what to say if his face gives him away; that's sort of a plan. And it's necessary, because his face giving him away is...likely. More than likely. Actually, Kris has no idea how he's going to be able to meet Adam's eyes _without_ his face giving him away, which is why he needed a plan. And he has one: he'll tell Adam that he's been having sex dreams about him and that they're weirding him out.

He now lives in a universe where that constitutes a perfect plan. Okay.

If he weren't so sore–if he hadn't woken up in the hotel this morning with no memory of anything after Eric had given him the injection, an impressive array of bruises, the mother of all headaches, and a needle prick on his inner elbow–Kris would probably think that the whole thing _had_ been a dream, anyway.

It makes sense that he'd be having dreams about...what happened, if he were suppressing it with drugs. And it's a totally awkward thing, to tell someone that you're having sex dreams about them, so his awkwardness over lying, which he isn't very good at, will just seem like a natural fit.

He's really proud of himself for coming up with the idea. He tweets: _Not going into detail, but based on the dream I just had, ya'll need to stop worrying about zombies. Aliens are the real crazy._

He stares at the screen for a while after he sends that out.

It's a good plan. And it has nothing, nothing at all, to do with any of his actual issues.

_Tell her aliens made you do it,_ Adam had said–which was just another way of saying, _Aliens didn't make you_ enjoy _it, Kristopher._

Aliens had kidnapped him and Adam. Actual aliens, with a cell on their spaceship for studying human beings like lab specimens. There are probably better ways, he thinks, to find out that you're gay.

He heads down to breakfast, even though he isn't really very hungry. Just to get it over with. He isn't as nervous as he'd thought he would be, but he is nervous. He wipes his palms on his jeans.

Everyone is there, which is a little unusual. Most times at least one person sleeps late on an off day. They're all at the same table at the far side of the hotel dining room, and not one of them has that early-morning subdued look. They're rested. They're giddy.

Kris' glance–his _good morning_ smile–goes instinctively to Adam. Adam smiles back and for a nanosecond Kris thinks that maybe everything's going to be okay out of habit; that it's just too natural to smile at Adam and that he's only going to feel awkward or strange if he thinks about it instead of just doing it. But Adam's lips compress, his eyes jerk away immediately, and Kris doesn't blush, but he does drop his phone.

No one notices.

"Hey, winner," Allison says when she spots him–he's her special exception to calling everyone _loser_ all the time. There's an empty chair between her and Lil, and Kris takes it, settling himself gingerly. Sitting isn't very comfortable at the moment. His eyes swing to Adam at that thought, and Adam is already watching him, but he stares a hole through his grapefruit rather than meet Kris' eyes, and any hope that Adam isn't mad at him is blown straight to hell.

_Blown. Hee hee,_ says the little voice in his head.

No one notices that time, either.

In fact, the first time that anyone notices that anything is up is when Kris goes to get some French toast, swings past Adam's chair to get to the buffet, and trips over one of its legs. Adam is there before Kris has even finished falling, sets Kris back on his feet, holds him by his shoulders a little too long as they stare at each other, and then drops his hands as if burned and sits down in his seat, a light flush staining his cheeks.

Holy mother of a cow.

_Everyone_ notices that time.

Not that they say anything. Kris is kind of speechless, himself, but the rest of them burst into sound like a radio picking up several stations at once. Kris leaves them to cover the awkwardness of the moment, and goes to get his French toast.

* * *

That's the worst of it, though. Adam seems to calm down after that. He can look Kris in the eye, for one thing. Kris avoids that, though. Adam alternates between vaguely mocking smiles and dull anger. The hardest thing, Kris finds, is pretending confusion. He isn't supposed to know why Adam is upset. That's probably driving Adam crazy; not being able to be honest, have it out, work past this.

He's pretty sure, though, that Adam buys into his ruse with the dreams, so that's one thing working out the way he'd planned. As for figuring out how much to tell Katy–which is hard because Kris doesn't even know what he wants, really–well, he's distracted. He avoids her calls for three days.

And then Eric shows up. _That's_ pretty fucking distracting.

Eric is just _there_, at the latest concert after party, when the afterimage from a camera flash fades, and the fan who'd asked for the picture thanks Kris and wanders off.

"I wanted to see the concert," Eric shrugs, when Kris gapes at him. "Musical harmony is based in mathematics, you know. I can appreciate art as well as science."

"Are you here," Kris says, "for an autograph?"

"Don't be glib. I need to talk to you." Eric shakes his head at Kris. "A little gratitude would be in order, in fact."

Kris raises his eyebrows. "Really."

"I'm choosing to give you some advance warning." He rubs his eyes tiredly. "We're going to need you again. Both of you."

Kris doesn't know why he's surprised. "Why'd you bother even offering us that drug?"

"So that you'd be more comfortable. And I didn't intend to do this." Eric's face grows animated. "I took video from every angle, so that there'd be no chance that I'd need to bother you again, even when it came time to present my paper. I was quite thorough."

Kris doesn't feel particularly compelled to thank him for that.

"But it's not that." Eric's eyes are practically shining. "There was an unintended side effect of your time together. You see, our technology is completely different from yours, and it's mainly based around sonic energy, and radio waves...and, well. We discovered quite by accident that there are some unique reactions that occur when the sound waves from your voice and from Mr. Lambert's voice are combined. The–"

"So I can carry around a tape recorder," Kris says. "Adam can carry around a tape recorder. You can get our voices doing all kinds of things and then play around with it however you want."

Eric doesn't look convinced, and that's...foreboding.

"Oh, come on," Kris says, exasperated. "Do you really need us making _sex_ noises?"

"I just don't know," Eric sighs. "I don't want to leave any possibility unexplored. But I'm preparing the experiment quite thoroughly, I assure you. This is notice to settle whatever complications there have been between you and Mr. Lambert so that I can receive your full cooperation."

Kris stares at him. There's finality to that statement. If they don't come willingly, Eric is going to use his sonic energy and radio waves to melt their brains until they change their minds.

"If Adam asks," he says, snatching the book in Eric's hand and scrawling his initials on the front, "you're a fan, and you've been telling me about how your mother's chihuahua loves my voice so much that she won't eat or poop unless my songs are playing."

"Fair enough." Eric smiles faintly.

"How much time do I have?" he asks as Eric turns away.

"One day," Eric says, and disappears into the crowd.

* * *

Kris doesn't look to see whether Adam is watching the exchange. As far as he's concerned, Eric is a fan with a whack chihuahua. He doesn't care what explanation Eric gives for being there if Adam confronts him–checking to make sure that there haven't been any serious side effects from the drug would be reasonable enough. Kris needs another plan, and he really doesn't need to see Adam glaring at him right now.

He probably should have predicted that another alien would show up, though. Being kidnapped by aliens and forced to have amazing gay sex undermines a lot of basic assumptions–like, that that sort of thing could never happen. Or, really, that it could only happen once. Half of his friends are probably secretly aliens. He wouldn't be surprised.

This one's a woman, tall, pretty in a way. Vulpine. Her smile is all teeth and chin when she corners Kris–he's alone, trying to walk and think–in the hotel lobby that night.

"Hi, you're Kris, right? I'm a colleague of Eric's," she says, holding out her hand. And, of course she is. Of _course_ she is.

"Can I buy you a drink?" she asks, gesturing to the bar.

"What do you want?" Kris asks.

She smiles again, eyes wide and friendly. "Relax, I'm a colleague, I'm not the man himself. In fact, that's what I'm here to talk to you about. Can we please sit down?"

"No," Kris says. She purses her lips and then shrugs.

"Fine, then. Kris, I'm not here to force you into anything. I'm here to ask for your voluntary cooperation. Eric's little experiment has had all kinds of results that he didn't anticipate, but as a psychiatrist I have a particular interest in _you_." She smiles sympathetically. "I know that I'll be reporting him to an ethics committee for what he put you through. If you'd like to tell me more about that, it would certainly help."

Kris studies her. "Was what he did illegal?"

She hesitates. "It skirts a very fine line."

Lab rats again. And he very much doubts that she's some kind of human rights activist. She's out for something else.

"I'm not talking about it," Kris says, and turns to walk away.

"This is bigger than you know," she says, catching his arm. "Trust me. It's not like you have any reason to trust _him_. He's a biologist, not an engineer, and if he were in it for the _science_ he'd pass this on to someone who knows what he's doing, but he wants this to be his, and he–"

"Wouldn't let you ever get a chance at me?" Kris suggests. Her nostrils flare.

"It would do you some good to talk to me, too. You must be so confused right now."

"Not really," he says, trying to free his arm. Her fingers are like talons.

"I read your file. You married so young. You never got the chance to explore this side of your psyche, and–" She stops. "It would be perfectly reasonable for you to resent your wife right now."

Kris yanks his arm from her grip. "You know so much about me, you must be very close to Eric. Take it up with him. I'm going to bed."

"Kris, I'd rather not do this through Eric. It's complicated."

It certainly seems that way. There's an angle here. There are a few angles here.  "Would you really report him for what he did?"

"I already have," she says. Her eyes narrow as she studies him. "Has he contacted you? He wasn't supposed to do that until the committee reaches a decision."

He reflects on the beginnings of this conversation. She is an impressively manipulative...being.

"He said he's coming back to get us tomorrow night," Kris says, and her eyes widen.

"I see," is all she says, but there's an added curve to her lips. She sighs. "I can go, but would you _like_ to talk? About Katy, maybe?"

Kris considers her for a moment.

"If your body is just a human simulation like Eric's, you could have made it more attractive," he says finally, and she lets him go after that.

* * *

He could have gone on a rant about how he _loves_ his wife, but Kris finds himself reluctant to talk about his feelings with alien life forms. There's someone else he needs to talk to, though.

Adam is in baggy pajama shorts and a t-shirt when he answers the door. Taken off guard with a surprise visit, he doesn't look completely unfriendly. Maybe it's the late hour and the fact that Kris probably looks like crap.

"Hi," he says neutrally.

"Hi," Kris says. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Adam yawns. Fakely. "Can it wait until tomorrow? I'm so beat."

A part of him isn't ready to do this–didn't plan on ever being ready–but there's really no way to avoid it. Kris is glad that he's small, because Adam would probably feel bad about hitting him.

"Adam," he says, and stops, and tries again. He looks up and puts his most apologetic expression on his face. He feels reluctance stretch his mouth and eyebrows into a grimace.

"I didn't take the drug," he says, and holds his breath.

It takes Adam a moment to react. His reaction is predictable. "You _bastard_," he growls, and yanks Kris into the room.

"I don't get why you're so mad," Kris protests, trying to break free. "I mean, I get–"

"I'm gay," Adam says, grip fast on Kris' wrists, eyes fierce. "I'm _gay_. Do you know what it's like to learn that about yourself and live with it? No, you don't. But I accepted it and it changed my entire life, it changed the way I _look _at life. And you–" he shakes his head, looks truly bewildered–"you _know _that. But you have the same revelation and it takes you _five minutes_ to erase it like it never happened? How can you just _do _that? Even if it makes things more complicated in your perfect little–"

"That's not even–I can't believe you." Kris steps back in order to gape at Adam properly. "I have a _wife_. If I had decided that it would be better for my marriage, my _marriage_, not to have that _graphic_ memory, would that really be so wrong?"

"Like a slap in the face," Adam snarls, and then immediately says, "No. Wait. Shit." His shoulders lose a little tension. "Maybe," he snaps.

Kris suddenly stops. "What are we doing? I didn't take the drug."

"Oh, my God." Adam blinks. His shoulders lose even more tension.  His eyebrows go up, and he starts to smile at Kris–but then they come down and he frowns instead.  "You just wanted me to think that you did."

Yeah. That. Kris finds it hard to meet Adam's eyes. He tries to explain, "I didn't want to forget it, but I didn't want it–between us, you know? It–if it's something that we both remember, every time we–I just–"

He isn't explaining this well. He sneaks a peek up at Adam, whose expression has at least softened. He always looks softer without makeup, anyway. More real, more _Adam_. And there are the freckles. So close he can count them. If Kris stood on his tiptoes, he could catch Adam's lower lip in his teeth.

He shakes his head and backs a few steps away. "That isn't even why I'm here."

Adam seems to exhale slowly. "Is this about why Eric spoke to you tonight?"

"Um. Yeah." Kris tries to remember what the problem is. Oh, right.

"Our voices have magical powers and a bunch of alien scientists are fighting over our issues," he sums up.

Adam looks at him.

"Tell me about it," Kris agrees, and launches into a recap of his night, trying not to feel unsettled by Adam watching him from the bed, chin on his knees.

"And then I told her that Eric is coming for us tomorrow night–"

"Oh, my god, you are brilliant." Adam jumps to his feet, grabs Kris and swings him around in a hug. "So, we're hoping that between the two of them they get each other killed or thrown in jail or something?"

Kris is crushed against Adam's chest. He gets a lungful of Adam–traces of cologne, the astringent of his face wash, and that other scent that doesn't belong to anything else and is just _Adam_–and he gets a view from underneath of Adam's sooty eyelashes. He feels claustrophobic and pushes Adam away, "Or something," he confirms.

"And if it doesn't work," Adam says–and breaks off. He gnaws at the corner of his lip and looks at Kris.

If it doesn't work, Kris will have another legitimate excuse to freak out.

"We'll deal with it when it happens," Kris says.

On his way back to his own room he realizes that he still doesn't know what, exactly, to tell Katy about all of this.

* * *

The problem of what to tell Katy is a complicated one, and not just because he has to figure out a way to explain things so that she might actually believe him. Or because, since there's _no such thing_, he's going to have this enormous, accidental secret from his wife for the rest of his life, even if he admits to having a whole lot of sex with Adam. Or because he has an actual sex dream about Adam that night and wakes up from it because he's trying to lock his feet around Adam's neck and he knocks himself in the face with his knee instead.

He's on the floor. His whole body had jumped at the knee-nose contact, and, well, the hand that was down his shorts swung him off balance, and down he went. It is a definite shame that no one caught that on camera. The thing is, he's panting into the carpet like a golden retriever and he's pretty sure that he's on fire. Not thirty seconds ago, someone who seemed very much like Adam had managed to kiss down Kris' ribs without breaking eye contact, and Kris wants–he _wants_–

His hand is still down his shorts.

Kris rolls onto his back and deliberately extends his arms and legs. No friction. No synapses like live wires. No falling back into the dream, which had been graphic enough to demonstrate that Kris had absorbed an extraordinary amount of detail from his single gay experience.

That is definitely _one_ of the real problems about what to tell Katy, because he doesn't think he can leave it at, "I'm bisexual. Let's deal with that."

But the other thing is that there's a decent chance that within twenty-four hours he and Adam are going to be carried off to some other planet, where scientists and doctors will make them have sex on demand until they drop dead.

Since he can't figure out how to stop it, if it comes to that, he...wants to see her again before it happens. Hear her funny little voice. Maybe get a chance to say goodbye.

But that's just him being paranoid. Aliens may be real, but Kris still knows when he's being paranoid. It isn't going to happen. There are too many people–aliens–interested, and they all want different things, and they seem like decent backstabbers even if they're crap scientists. They'll undermine each other until no one has the power to do anything and Kris and Adam will be left alone and that will be that.

There's no time for breakfast this morning; today they're travelling, moving out early to get to the next city in just a few hours. Matt, Michael, and Anoop are already standing around the table when Kris hops on board the bus with his guitar. Matt is teaching them how to stack cups, a skill that he acquired when a fan gave him a set of stacking-cups as a gift. He isn't very good, actually. Megan, on the other hand, totally rocks at it and sneaks the cups onto the girls' bus all the time. Kris flops onto the couch to the clatter of plastic meeting plastic.

He's usually good at waiting. During the season, he hardly ever felt tense or restless counting down to his performance slot or turn in the hot seat on results night; whatever was going to happen was going to happen, anyway.

This whole alien thing has him unusually rattled.

"Kris, come on, man, your turn," Matt calls to him. Kris hesitates, but then shrugs and gets up. What else is there to do?

* * *

It's fun. Fun enough to be distracting. They all suck at it, so no one really cares about looking stupid as they fumble around trying to keep the rhythms straight. Kris is even laughing at the mess that he's making when he sees a hand with blue-polished nails come down on either side of him, feels Adam lean over his shoulder to see what's going on.

"Oh," Adam says, amused. "My turn next."

Kris steps quickly to the side to give Adam space. "I'm done. You can go."

"Yeah?" Adam smiles at him, and Kris smiles back, but his chest squeezes uncomfortably. Adam looks well-rested, and...huggable is probably not most people's assessment of Adam, but whatever. He is.

Kris suddenly remembers a day last week–when Adam wore a dark gray eye liner that Kris had found to be intense even then. Adam always looks focused, intent, interested, when he's listening to someone else talk–but his eyes were _all_ you could look at that day, and Kris realizes with a shock that he really _has_ always thought that Adam is beautiful.

Meanwhile, Adam is kicking ass with the cups. He has those big hands, that's why–long fingers smoothly stacking and unstacking as everyone else stares. He finishes with a flourish and grins at them all.

"Megan and I were up all night doing this on Monday."

"Gimme, I need more practice." Danny pulls the cups towards him and Kris falls back onto the couch again.

"Don't try to do too much at once. You have to start slow," Adam says to Danny. "You have to get comfortable with it and then you can speed up and have it be awesome."

Kris chokes on his water.

* * *

It's probably only natural that Kris can't think about anything but sex for the duration of the bus ride.

Sex. And Adam. And sex. They're in this small, enclosed space, and Eric is coming for them before the day is out, which is all kinds of weird and intense all on its own. Plus _Adam_ knows that _Kris_ knows, now, which means that–there it is. All the time. Like...a song that he can't get out of his head and can't stop tapping his foot to, either. Sex.

Back in the day, way back when Kris was one hundred percent straight, they could sprawl out and not even talk, _or_ talk about anything, or...act silly. Just..._play. _Which,okay, there was some flirting, there's no real way around that–in fact Kris is pretty sure they were a lot like one of those annoying couples that no one wants to hang out with because they laugh at jokes no one else gets and won't keep their hands off each other–but it wasn't _serious_.

"Just so you know, I'm not letting you anywhere near my surfboard without some more lessons, first," Adam says casually.

Kris' mouth flies open and he thinks his eyes are going to fall out of his head; Adam gazes back at him with just a hint of a smile, phone in hand.

Well, that's just bad timing. It isn't Kris' fault that Adam gets so far behind with checking his twitter feed. That was a _joke_.

"Okay, I am absolutely taking a picture for that fan with the foot fetish," Adam adds, and Kris sees that he has worried himself into a knot on the couch, one foot underneath him and the other bent sideways and pressing into his stomach. Adam snaps the picture, looking down at Kris with a thoughtful expression, and then sits down on the couch next to him. No one else is in the back room with them; they've been filtering out one by one, going to lie down in their bunks. Adam and Kris sit for a moment.

"I knew you'd freak out eventually," Adam says finally, idly twisting one of his rings. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Since Kris is currently trying to focus on something other than the feel of Adam's body, the line of it, pressed alongside his, that seems like a–

"_Bad _idea," Kris says shortly. And it's just so unfair, because it's not like there's anyone else he wants to talk to. Or anyone whose lap he wants to use as an extra pillow, to lay his head down and listen to music while they both drift off. It's so still; the hum of traffic only seems to enclose them more deeply in a bubble of their own.

"Okay," Adam says softly, and Kris flashes back to the cold, metallic floor, to Adam's careful, gentle, hungry touch and the feel of letting go; and Kris thinks, _What if I– _He closes his eyes, dizzy. And lets his head drop onto Adam's shoulder, where it's warm, and lets the low rumble of passing cars lull him to sleep.

* * *

Kris is drenched in sweat from his performance and from the humidity, and he's trying to keep a surreptitious eye out for Eric without being spotted by any of the fans and called out to the barricades again. He doesn't have the heart to refuse when they call, but if Eric shows, he's going to have to ditch them, anyway.

Alien scientists after him, he expects at this point. Megan and Allison stalking him around the parking lot, not so much.

"_Now_, dude," Megan says, shaking her poof of teased hair at him in disappointment when he insists that he has to get back on the bus. "We have a few minutes. Stand still for a second. This is important."

They aren't going to be put off. Alli is frowning at him with her arms folded, one hip jutting sideways. Kris has no idea what this is about.

Megan looks like she wants to demand that he pay attention, but instead she fixes him with a firm stare and says, "So, don't bother denying that there's something going on with you and Adam."

"Everyone can tell," Allison tells him, shaking her finger at him. "Even if we can't tell exactly what."

"And we love you, too, so don't take this the wrong way," Megan says.

"But you had better not hurt him." Allison says this fiercely.

"Or we will have you dismembered," Megan finishes calmly.

Kris gapes at them. They look steadily back.

"Well?" Allison demands.

"Come on, Kris. I had a long talk with Adam on..." Megan thinks back. "Monday night. He wouldn't say anything specific, but–"

Why does no one remember or care that Kris has a wife?

He doesn't bring it up either. He's not dealing with this. He just looks from one to the other. "Dismembered? That doesn't sound very nice."

"Drawn, quartered, tarred, feathered, disembowelled, boiled in oil, and I will personally skin your dick," Megan says cheerfully.

Kris sees Eric loitering around the edges of the barricade before he can come up with anything to say in reply. Something about feathering is as far he gets, but he's distracted first by the mental image of a skinned dick, and then by–

"Kris! Kris! Kris!" Eric chants, awkwardly energetic, watching the girls next to him out of the corner of his eye as if to confirm that he's doing it right. They're calling for Adam, but when they follow Eric's line of vision and spot Kris, they burst into loud screams.

"Remember, I could totally kick your ass," Allison hollers after him as Kris jogs towards the screamers.

He signs for the real fans first, then moves as if he's just going to finish up with Eric and leave again. He scribbles on the sign that Eric holds out, then blinks and looks again. Painstaking care has gone into fashioning plaid out of blue and green glitter. The bright lettering reads,

_KRADAM: JUST DO IT_

"I took it off a small child out front," Eric says, wrinkling his nose at the sign as well. "Her mother should be reprimanded, but it does stand out." He's looking around carefully. "Fetch Mr. Lambert. We need to move out straight away."

Kris looks back at Allison and Megan, who are still out in front of the buses, talking to each other but watching him. He is _not _walking back that way. He gets out his phone to call Adam, instead.

* * *

Adam is not in a cooperative mood.

"It would have taken ten whole minutes to let us go back to the hotel. He can't give us ten minutes?"

Kris shrugs. Eric had shoved them into the back of the car and then proceeded to ignore them completely. What he gives them is entirely up to him.

"We're in a station wagon," Adam says incredulously. "And it's taking us to a space ship. Doesn't that seem just the tiniest bit like a cosmic joke?"

"What were you expecting?" Kris picks lint off the blue suede of the seats. "Matter transference beams?"

Adam stares at him and then slumps against the seat. His fingers tap restlessly on the window. "You are such a dork."

Kris decides not to take that personally. Or to deny it. Adam can't stop complaining at the moment–fretting–and Kris is glad to be the calm one here. It's kind of nice, in a way, that they take turns freaking out. The balance of it.

Adam is shaking his head again, as if he's truly disappointed with Eric's inability to plan properly. "He should have let us go back to the hotel. Making excuses is going to be a bitch."

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda..."

"Bite me," Adam suggests pleasantly.

And then they're there.

Maybe they should have been paying attention to where they were going, but it's an unfamiliar city, and Kris isn't sure how much he would have been able to retain, anyway. They're in the woods somewhere, which is hardly helpful. From the outside, the spaceship is dull brown and looks a lot like a boat, which they hadn't gotten to see the last time. Kris wonders if it's camouflage for anyone who happens to stumble onto it, because a boat sitting smack in the middle of a wooded area is surprisingly innocuous. It clearly belongs to some guy who has learned how not to annoy his wife with his hobby.

A boat. A ship. A spaceship. That's just…too literal.

Their cell looks the same.

Eric, on the other hand, is decidedly different. Nervous. He's blinking too much; it's making Kris antsy.

"You need instructions," Eric says. "This is going to be very complex."

"Way to set the mood," Adam approves. "Who taught _you _to talk dirty?"

Eric isn't even a little amused.

"This isn't like–this is going to be different." Eric opens his mouth and closes it again, dissatisfied. "For this to work, I need to be–"

"You need to use a test subject other than yourself," says a female voice, and there's the psychiatrist, watching them impassively from the other corner of the room. It's kind of freaky. Kris is impressed; he hadn't even counted on her having ninja skills when he'd set this up. Eric reacts quickly, mouth twisting in that strange way, but she says, "Don't waste my time. The boss will be here any minute. We need to talk quickly."

Eric blinks. "The boss?"

"That is what I said." She steps closer, and she's watching Adam and Kris, now, dark, tilted eyes taking them in with a strange hunger. For a moment Kris sees the two of them through her glance, what she must see, but then she's saying conversationally,

"Did you know that it's illegal to visit your planet in our natural form? I break many, many laws, but that's one I can support." She smiles at Eric, lips forming a narrow coral bow. "Nobody wants to get caught."

Eric is unmoving.

Suddenly she seems less like a competitive, incompetent academic, and Kris wonders what he's gotten them into.

"You need to be more cautious when you have such valuable products on your hands," she says lightly, running her eyes over them one last time, and then she turns her back on them and says to Eric, "My boss is probably going to want to deliver a message to you. I don't want them to see that, I want them calm when I assess them. I'm giving you the chance to save yourself, and we don't have much time to barter. Just tell me where the notes and video are from the last time. I'll take you somewhere safe."

Eric's jaw is locked tight. She tried this same soothing routine on Kris, in the hotel, but the difference here is that she isn't actually trying to soothe, or feel him out, or manipulate him. She's getting what she wants, here.

Eric makes a noise like a stepped-on cat and it takes Kris a moment to recognize that this is language. He and the woman are talking. The exchange is short and then she smiles, pats him on the arm, and leaps through the ceiling.

As one does, if one is an alien.

Eric shrugs at Adam and Kris.

"She's a psychiatrist. She specializes in physical, mental, and emotional torture and she's particularly interested in your cases. That's all."

"Oh," Adam repeats brightly. "_That's_ all."

Kris thinks that she probably enjoys her specialty just a little too much for comfort.

"She's done some truly impressive research," Eric says, real admiration in his voice. "Across a broad range of several species and races. This is her first foray into humanity, and she thinks that it's not only ideal for its simplicity, as an introduction to your kind, but also that it will make quite a catchy article, and I must say–"

"Who's her boss?" Adam demands. Eric's eyes snap to attention.

"Oh, that." He looks a little uncomfortable. "Well, that's how she gets her test subjects, usually. And I shouldn't have expected that I'd be able to keep you to myself, but I thought..."

His lips part; the sharp angles of his face fall slack. Kris feels distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's a high," Eric breathes. "That's what you humans call it. When the waves from your voices mix, it creates an interruption in _our _brain waves, right in the pleasure centers, and it's...people would pay anything...I didn't want to have a dependency on anything, but in the end I couldn't resist–"

He didn't get _off _on them. He got _high _on them. Or maybe a combination of the two.

"Who," Adam repeats, cautiously, already two steps ahead of Kris and knowing where this is going, "who is her boss?"

Eric shakes himself back together as well as he can.

"She's the personal therapist," he says dreamily, "to what I believe you humans would call _the mob_."

* * *

"I don't have time to answer your questions," the psychiatrist says, gesturing for Kris and Adam to have a seat on the couch. "And I don't have time for you to make this difficult for me."

"I can explain," Adam volunteers. "It's really simple, Kris. We're going to revolutionize the intergalactic drug trade. It's going to be _awesome_."

Adam hasn't really stopped laughing since Eric revealed that the mob is after them, too.

"Everyone wants to take a sip," Adam goes on earnestly, "from our devil cup."

"But don't they know that we're toxic?" Kris asks.

"Enough." She clicks her tongue, and restraints slide over their arms, tying them to their seats. She settles into the chair across from them.

Kris really does want to know how they plan to make this work. Will Kris and Adam really have to have sex every time someone wants an expensive high? Couldn't they just record a duet together instead?

"It was effective for Eric to inflict pain on Adam first," the psychiatrist says, consulting her notes, "but I think I'd start with Kris. Just to get your attention, if I have to."

Kris rolls his eyes. It's not that she can't hurt them; it's just that the whole routine is so predictable, by now. But then she smiles, and his skin wants to crawl.

"You experienced intense pain for less than a single minute before you fell in line for Eric," she says, leaning back and crossing her legs. "Was there any moment when you considered continuing to resist?"

Kris glances at Adam.

"Wait, me?" he says, when Adam and the psychiatrist both look back at him expectantly.

"Yes, Kristopher, you." She taps her pen irritably. "As much as I wish I had time to question you separately, we are on a schedule here."

"Well…he hurt Adam first," Kris says, which she must have seen if she's seen the tapes. "Worse than me. I couldn't let him–"

"He tortured Adam for barely two minutes. Neither of you felt that it was worth pushing a little harder?"

His mouth is dry. He licks at his lower lip, trying to remember, but–

"It was just sex," he says. "It wasn't worth it."

Adam shifts.

"You were unfaithful to your wife," she points out. "That wasn't worth putting up a little bit of resistance?"

"I–" He stops. "The pain–"

"I told him that he didn't have to do it," Adam says. His eyes are steady on her face. He's unruffled; his makeup isn't even mussed. "But Kris told me not to be stupid, and he was right."

She nods, writing. "How high would you say your threshold is for pain, Adam? On a scale of one to ten."

Adam tilts his head to the side, considering. "Eight."

She smiles. "And how would you rate what Eric used on you?"

"Seven."

She writes some more. "Almost finished," she notes. She looks at Kris.

"What about you, Kris? How is your threshold for pain?"

He really hopes that she isn't like this with actual patients.

"A seven?" he hazards. "And Eric gave me seven and a half."

She sets her pen aside.

"Your orgasm was unusually intense, Kris," she remarks. "Would you be willing to experience that much pain again, if you got to feel _that_ again?"

"Um." Kris blinks. "I don't–"

"Hey, mine was intense, too," Adam says, and Kris wants to bury his face in his hands, but his hands are strapped to the armrests.

"We'll get to you," she assures Adam. She tilts her head and regards Kris clinically.

"Kristopher?" she says. "Would you do it again, if you could?"

Kris feels the first stirrings of panic. It isn't that simple. She just wants a yes or no answer, and she'll know if he's lying because he's so _bad_ at lying.

"It isn't about the pain," he says. "If it were just about the pain then I guess, yeah."

Adam stiffens next to him and Kris has a sliver of time in which to think, _What_?

She studies him for a moment.

"I'm just saying that I never would have cheated," he says quickly, "never, I wouldn't–" quickly, before she can try to force anything out of him, and from the calculating look in her eyes, she's about to–

"I believe that you _wouldn't_ have," she says, and he is immeasurably relieved.

"But my question," she says softly, "was whether you would do it _again_."

Something falls dully in his stomach, curdling, and her eyes take on a gleam when Kris doesn't answer; but Adam does, sounding utterly bored.

"He's married, he's faithful, that was his final word. I thought you said that we're short on time?"

She ignores him.

"Seven and a half," she says idly, picking up her pen again, "was enough to make you physically cheat on your wife. What _I'm _wondering," and she leans forward, and sifts her hand through his hair, possessive, tilting his chin up so he's forced to meet her eyes. "What I'm wondering is what would it take for you to cheat _emotionally_?"

He's really going to vomit; his mouth is filling with moisture, saliva sliding down his cheeks from the inside, the muscles of his gut knotting and trying to decide whether to hurl themselves up or down.

Adam snorts, and it's a rational sound, a practical sound; so out of place that Kris jumps. The psychiatrist looks at Adam as her nail traces a mark behind Kris' ear, and Adam keeps his eyes glued to her hand, as if he's going to stop it if it suddenly turns into a snake ready to bite.

"Are you expecting him to take a shot at that right here and now?" he asks her. "Because I'm sorry that he loves his wife, but I don't think you're going to get material for your paper out of it."

She laughs lightly, unexpectedly.

"So there are no emotional complications I should be interested in, here?" she asks Adam, removing her hand. Adam blinks at her for a little too long and then shrugs.

"Gay identity, maybe," he suggests helpfully, and two of his fingers are extended far enough to brush Kris' knuckle, to move back and forth over the skin, soothing.

"I wonder why Kris had such trouble coming up with that answer," she says, and then time is up.

* * *

The mob boss is a redhead. He doesn't look like anyone's godfather, doesn't speak English, has only two other men with him, and is, according to Adam, a disappointment.

Kris hopes he stays that way. He's pretty sure that the psychiatrist is trying to give an explanation for being early that doesn't translate as, _I wanted material for my research_, and when she does that, Kris and Adam are going to be the center of attention, and that could go a lot of ways.

"I really wanted him to make us an offer we couldn't refuse," Adam says, flexing his fingers, which are still trapped in restraints. He's been quoting mobster movies for the past ten minutes, lamenting the language barrier. He nudges Kris with his hip.

"I wanted to tell him to say hello to my little friend."

Which is hilarious, really, height jokes are always funny, but Kris isn't in the mood to listen to Adam make stupid conversation. It's nice of Adam to try and relieve the tension, or whatever this is, but really, that's not what Kris needs right now. What Kris needs is to be back at the mansion, top four results night, when Adam crawled onto his bed and scooped him up and, with his head pressed to Adam's chest, he got to hear Adam's voice from the inside, soft, silvery, set against low drums, telling him that it wasn't his fault.

That night is the closest thing to what he's feeling right now. He couldn't go home instead of Allison, and he can't go back to Katy and act like that's where he's supposed to be.

"Adam?" Kris says.

"Yeah?"

He's interrupting a one-man re-enactment of the "funny guy" scene from _Goodfellas_. He thinks that's probably okay. He remembers what Megan and Allison said, trying to calm the pounding in his chest; girls have an instinct for these things, he can trust that they know what they're talking about.

Or he could just remember Adam looking down at him, Adam's lips on him, Adam everywhere and nothing else ever feeling so _right_–and trust _that_. But he starts in a safe place, anyway.

"You're worried about me freaking out because I'm gay?"

He meets Adam's eyes. The angle is awkward, with their arms fixed in place, but he can see Adam's hand with its chunky rings, freckles, and chipping nail polish alongside his–smaller, browner–as Adam nods once.

"I think I skipped over the part where you have to worry about me like that," Kris says rapidly, finding it harder to look at Adam, keeping his eyes on their hands instead. "I've been feeling guilty, but I haven't been freaking out."

"I–"

"Not about being gay. That's not why I'm freaking out."

He tells Adam's thumb, which is the only part he feels capable of making eye contact with at the moment, "I can't believe you didn't know. I thought you knew."

Adam doesn't answer.

"I've been trying to give you space," Adam says finally, more unsure than Kris has ever heard him. "I know it probably feels like a lot–" He laughs, all air, no voice. "I mean, you did this kind of fast. And backwards. You started out with the sex."

"No, I didn't," Kris says.

Adam makes a noise like he did when Kris kissed him, just three days ago.

"I really thought you knew," Kris says again, and he can't seem to stop talking. "After Eric, I thought…I mean it wasn't about sex, and that's why it was such a big deal, and I thought it was obvious, but you don't even–"

Adam is pushing his leg against Kris', and Kris doesn't know if he's trying to turn him to face him or just get closer, but he's making soft noises and prodding at Kris until he can hook his ankle around Kris'; Kris stretches his legs so that he can slide his knee under Adam's, lock their knees together, too, and when they're as close as they can get he pokes his finger out and touches Adam's hand.

Adam is looking at him with that disconcerting intensity, that _focus_, and when Kris finally looks up and sees him, he asks, "What about–"

"I don't know."

"Okay." Adam nods, his eyes never leaving Kris. "But–"

"I don't _know_, Adam."

He doesn't know. Except that he thinks that maybe he should kiss Adam now, of his own initiative, without aliens coercing him or pain clouding his mind. He thinks that he should do that and then tell Katy about it and see what she has to say.

They shouldn't be able to reach, and even if they manage Kris doesn't know how Adam can possibly be enjoying it with his neck craned that far. Style and technique are pretty much off the table and they both keep forgetting and trying to move their hands, which adds up to desperation and a lot of tongue. Kris starts it by slipping his between Adam's teeth, and Adam makes a noise back in his throat and jerks his wrists–grunts in frustration–sucks Kris' lower lip into his mouth hard –

So it's sort of anticlimactic when the cops bust in.

* * *

"And if any non-human, _anyone_, tries to contact you, even if their intentions are innocent, hit this button."

They each get one–a mechanism about the size of a walnut, on a chain that they can wear around their necks.

"I mean it." The government flunky is shorter than Kris and looks about fifteen, but she definitely means it. "Study the handbook. Know the signs. It isn't impossible to pick us out. And if anyone looks even the slightest bit…" she grins. "_Stimulated _at the two of you singing together, give it a hit. We need to check it out."

Kris rolls his eyes. Adam is grinning, but he doesn't say anything, either. They'll figure something out. It's not like Adam is going to start toning it down.

It's a program similar to witness protection, but apparently the Intergalactic Congress or whatever they call themselves had sat in an emergency session and enacted several dozen new laws in order to place as many degrees of separation as possible between Kris, Adam, and the Milky Way. The last president had supposedly made a number of key decisions while high, and after that, the crack down on drugs had gotten _very _intense. Kris asks, "Do you think it will be good or bad for our careers for us to be known as the most illegal and addictive drug in the galaxy?"

"That is going to be a sick marketing campaign," Adam breathes, and Kris has a feeling he's going to have to intervene if Adam tries to get hold of the publicity people when they get back.

The girl purses her lips.

"Good luck," she tells them, and leaves them to their own devices while they wait for the last of the paperwork to process.

Adam decides that this would be a good time to put his hand on Kris' ass. Kris gives him a look, and he shrugs.

"I _can _be subtle," he says, "but they've been analyzing our sex tape for three days. Why bother?"

"We have a _sex _tape," Kris realizes.

"If it leaks, we probably have bigger problems."

Kris smiles and leans into Adam's arm. "I'm not worried about _that_," he says. "I just want a copy."

Which is why Adam is choking when the psychiatrist comes over to say goodbye.

Kris still thinks that she's one scary bitch, but it's kind of cool that she flipped on a huge mob boss and set him up to get caught trying to push Kradam as a high-end drug. She's also definitely the winner in all of this; amnesty for any work she did for the Mafioso, plus she got her research done, which is all she really wanted in the first place.

"You are one scary bitch," Adam greets her, proving once and for all that he and Kris are meant to be.

"I would have told you not to worry," she says composedly, "but the government could have shown up at any moment and I knew," she glances at Kris, "that they would never let me have a shot at you after that."

"Good story," Kris says.

"Yeah, we'd keep in touch but…" Adam indicates the panic button regretfully. She smiles.

"It's a shame. I'm a fan, you know, but your music is almost as illegal as you are."

"Damn." Adam snaps his fingers. "There go my interplanetary sales."

"Certain songs can be brought in for brief periods of time," she says, "with the proper licensing."

"Oh, good, then."

She smiles again. "I just wanted to wish you well." And then she, too, leaves them to themselves.

Adam still hasn't taken his hand off Kris' ass. Kris doesn't actually mind, but they do have things to discuss. Excuses to make up for their handlers. A way to cash in on the bootleg sales of their music that will undoubtedly continue to flourish out in space.

Also, having sex with no aliens watching. That's probably going to feel weird.

"We'll find other ways to make things interesting," Adam promises, laughing, and even if they haven't managed to stick to any of their other plans, Kris is going to hold him to that one.


End file.
